Dead Awakened/Issue 3 (old)
This is Issue 3 of Dead Awakened, entitled Flight 213. NOTE: Story will undergo a rewrite in the near future. Issue 3 - Flight 213 Ken steps out of the coffee shop and sees Jaime looking at a cellphone; he was about to put it in his ear when he looks up and sees him. Ken takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee and waves at him. Jaime nods, and walks closer to him. He had black hair styled to a buzz cut, a bulky figure, and a taller height that made Ken look up a bit. “Mornin’ dude,” Ken greets, taking yet another sip. “Let’s go?” Jaime nods, and looks ahead, remotely opening a dark-gray four-seater parked just across the highrise’s front doors. The car’s loud beeping and blinking lights were Jaime’s signals for “yes”. -------- The only thing speaking in the car was the chatter buzzing from the radio. Ken knew Jaime; he was a man of a few words, and sentences were always few and far in between. It was a bit of a game among themto keep him talking for a minute. “Nice day, eh?” Ken comments, looking at Jaime, who was driving, then to the blue sky partially covered by the tall skyscrapers they passed by. “Yep,” he responds; he had a distinct gruff voice with a subtle Hispanic accent that easily reflects his demeanor. Ken nods, thinking it was good enough, and turns his attention to the chatter on the radio, pressing a button to up the volume a bit. “… hopeless, right? Freakin’ hopeless!” The speaking man’s voice had that familiar, radio tone that’d be typically heard in the background of something. “I live by East Point and I’d see that kind of petty crime over there! You just don’t see that kind of stuff in the shopping district…” Ken slightly leans back his seat, while Jaime makes a stop at the red light. “Well, enough bad news for now—let’s hear some good news!” It was a female radio announcer talking by this time. “You remember Alex, Jeff? Alex Brennan… pretty girl who won the lottery about five months ago. She donated a generous check to the folks at Heffernan High and—get this—they’ll be able to resume classes for the next coming school year! Isn’t that crazy?...” Heffernan High School rings a bell to Ken. He had a few friends over that school. He remembered it closing just a month ago. “Wow, see—no surprise there! You remember when she bought a whole round for Sixth Avenue?” “Ah, I wasn’t there—but yeah, free drinks for a whole block of bars… I mean, if you got the money, might as well have fun with it…” “That was all fun and games, Charlie, but look at Ms. Brennan now. Giving her money away to education…” “Yeah well… speaking of education—college rallies aren’t gonna be stopping anytime soon, as Grant Community gets its batch of activists today…” The voices in the radio drown down as Ken daydreams at the sight of cars passing by, and people walking the streets. It was a peaceful sight, as the wind swept through the sidewalk trees and foliage that decorated some of the buildings. He wondered if it’d somehow get interrupted by the sight of crime, but that seems unlikely. Crime would be something he’d typically see in his old neighborhood. “Ken,” Jaime calls, making him turn to look at him in an instant. A call from Jaime was always something special. “Sully left a whiteboard for something.” “Oh, must be…” Ken looks at the backseat, and sees a small whiteboard and two blue Sharpie markers. “… must be for the new guy.” Jaime just nods, in response, done with saying all the word’s he’s probably going to say for the day. He reaches for the whiteboard and markers with his left hand and sets it on his lap. He uncaps one of the markers and begins writing. “By the way…” He writes the first name with ease. “… we’re gonna treat the new guy later. Probably get blasted. You up?” Jaime catches his attention, his response delayed. He was just planning on doing an early run in the gym today, and nothing else. “Yeah, sure,” he replies. -------- Place: jetBlue Airways Cabin, Flight #213 Time: 9:43 AM, 17 minutes until touchdown A young man sits looking over the sky view of Bellforde, observing its field of skyscrapers of different sizes, a few spots of green here and there. It looked a lot like New York, but he somehow felt different just by looking at it; it felt like there was going to be more space, and less… yellow cabs. He’d move to the United States from Brazil when he was about twenty. He had to live with his uncle, and that was already bad enough; his uncle could barely make ends meet, so he had to look for a job to maintain their already-run down apartment. He was cart puller at first, but that wasn’t good enough. He’d get involved in a few auto part thefts, but he’d quit soon enough to not get caught. Just a few jobs and maybe he would’ve belonged to a syndicate. He was a man who couldn’t shrug off trouble, so he did the next best thing; work as a bouncer. Ramillo Valez is 29 years old. Dark skin, faded haircut, a knack for physical activity; a bouncer’s job was perfect for him. Organized theft could’ve been the next best thing, but he was fully aware of the repercussions. He’d work in the big apple for nine years, going through numerous jobs, and finally finding his niche in a nightclub. He became well-known over there after three years, making friends and some temporary enemies along the way. He was referred to an out-of-towner by one of the club’s regulars, a fifty-year-old womanizer, about four months ago. His hirer said he worked for a millionaire, and that he was willing to hire him if he’d exchange the East for the West. Ramillo had doubts at first, but the prospect of money was too luring. He’d use those four months to uproot himself from the city, saying goodbye to his friends, and giving just enough money to thank his uncle. With a plane ticket, and a bit of pocket money, Ramillo is looking to start a new life. At least the place didn’t look different from where he came from. “This is your captain speakin’… we’re about to touch down in fifteen more minutes…” The captain’s voice was the usual deep, grainy voice one would hear in a plane. “Today’s weather is a brisk 84 degrees, all sun for today… good day to watch the Comets game, which is at four-thirty this afternoon…” Ramillo felt a quick jolt of excitement as he straightened his posture and brushed his lap, noticing the seat-belt sign blink. “… enjoy the ride and, as always, it’s a pleasure having you here at Jet Blue…” -------- After a quick stop at the baggage claim, Ramillo walks toward the terminal, now discovering the fact that he doesn’t know how he was going to get picked up. But something told him that he’ll just know; that old man, Sully, left a welcoming impression on him. He was nervous; the only thing he can fall back on was that gyro lunch with Sully. They walked and ate in the street, as he rambled on about what he was getting himself into. A “standard bodyguard job” with good pay, and a “millionaire boss”. His friendly tone is what reassured him. But what of his co-workers? The place he was going to live in? He was starting to have some doubts. He had no idea who they were. Sully just said they’re “a group o’ guys.” He walks past a few of his former passengers, and starts seeing people standing, signs in their hands. He eyes a big, tough-looking man in a suit but then soon transfers to a sign with his name on it. They looked like two normal guys. Well, except for the bigger guy, who was holding it up. This was probably it. Probably just a temporarily hired posse or something. He tries to wear a friendly smirk, but ceases it as he got closer. He pauses looking at the sign, then to the two guys. The smaller guy was smiling. “I… uh… I’m Ramillo,” he starts, holding his hand up a bit hesitantly at first. The smiling guy gladly receives it. “Ken. And that’s Jaime.” The bigger guy puts his sign down and gives him a brief handshake of his own. Ramillo expected a rough welcome. Maybe just a blunt greet, no contact whatsoever. Not these two friendly guys. “You had breakfast yet?” the man named Ken asks. -------- Ramillo sits down in the back, still wondering, a chocolate donut in his hand. Ken was the last to enter, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Sully said just go straight home,” he says to Jaime, who pulls out of the parking spot right away. Ramillo was glad to hear Sully’s name, since he thought he was in the wrong place. They were silent for a good moment, until Ken notices Ramillo through the overhead mirror. “If you got any questions, just ask.” The new guy looked fairly uncomfortable. Ramillo was just wondering the whole time. He looks at the donut, then to the windows to his sides. This is starting to be much better than he thought. He could feel his stomach rumbling at the sight of the roll of dough in his hands. The only thing he’s eaten today was that pack of peanuts from the airplane. “Uh…” He was about to take a bite, but hesitates. “So you guys really… shoot down bad guys on a regular basis?” Ken looks at Jaime briefly, his answer delayed. “Eh, not really. On occasion, more like. It’s been a while since our last serious attack, so I guess that’s when you come in. Like, they might be planning something big.” The last time he was talking about was probably three months ago. He wants to say he lives an action movie star’s life, but that’d be much too soon. And it was a bad comparison. Ramillo nods slowly, having not realized he’s taken a bite of his donut. He just relishes the sweetness of it, putting him at ease. “Know how to shoot?” Ken asks, prompting Ramillo to sit up again. “Well…” He’s had a bit of an interest with guns, and would go to a firing range as a hobby. A rare hobby, more like; he could only fire them when his friends would take him. “I’ve practiced a few times.” Ken nods, mulling over the thought. “Right. Well we can show you the ropes later. Maybe get you your own piece. But don’t worry about that now.” -------- The ride back didn’t take too long, since the traffic wasn’t present. Ken didn’t make it awkward by asking him a few questions and telling him about tonight. Ramillo surprisingly answered them with ease. The car comes to a halt, as Jaime drives to a nearby sidewalk and parks it. Ramillo has been eyeing all the buildings along the way, including the one right in front of him right now. “We’re here,” Ken says, unbuckling his seatbelt. He notices Ramillo scanning the highrise. “If I’m correct, that’s where you’re gonna be staying.” Ramillo couldn’t even see the top from his angle; it was like something he’d see out of the Upper West Side. He hears Ken and Jaime open the car door and exits with them. They all look left and right in the street and scurry on over to the other side, toward the highrise’s front doors. “This is really it?” Ramillo asks, still in disbelief. Ken notices it and smirks at him. “Yeah, it is,” he replies. Upon entering, the first thing Ramillo notices is the extremely tall ceiling. He’s been living in cramped spaces all his life; this alone was certainly a change. The next were the marble surfacing of nearly everything. “Ah, y’guys made it!” Ramillo turns to the distinct, Southern-accent voice; Sully, walking from the set of velvet sofas. He walks over to them, a bright smile in his face. “Glad to see ya here, Ramillo,” he greets, laying his hand out for a shake. Ramillo firmly returns it. “Well… this is it, kid.” Sully takes a step back, putting his hands up to gesture the majesty of the place. “Your new home.” That was an understatement. Ramillo’s insides were flaring at the excitement of living in this palace of an apartment. He couldn’t drop his grin. “I gotcha your key right now, but... Marcy’s gonna be wantin’ to meet ya first.” Sully walks over to his side and ushers him toward the elevators. “You’re the first we’ve hired since years ago so this is kind of a special occasion…” Ramillo hesitantly looks at his duffle bags, which were with Jaime and Ken. “We got this, dude,” Ken tells him, waving him off. “Just say hi to the head honcho for us.” -------- The ascent to the top took a little longer than expected; they had to go twenty floors up. Ramillo felt like he needed to unstrap his only carry-on, a single-strap backpack. “Nothin’ to be nervous about, kiddo,” Sully says beside him. “Marcy’s a nice dude.” The only description he got out of him was that he was a millionaire. So he assumed he always likes to dress neatly. He looks at his own outfit; a maroon-colored shirt, jacket, black jeans, and brown shoes. He takes a quick peek of Sully’s, and sees just about the same amount of casualness as he has. It shouldn’t be that bad. “Ohp, we’re here.” Sully’s voice was in cue with the elevator’s beep. The doors slide open, revealing a narrow hallway with a clean gray carpet and sleek glass walls on the sides. There were two doors on each, and one set of black double-doors straight ahead. Just to its left side, two little chairs. “After you,” Sully says, accompanying it with a hand gesture. Ramillo shyly walks ahead, unstrapping his bag. “Should I…” Sully points to the chairs. “Yeah, just—just set it there—” Ramillo puts his carry-on aside as Sully steps ahead of him, knocking on the door twice. He then grabs the handle and pushes it. “Kid’s here,” he says, Ramillo out of view right behind him. He turns to look at him and mutters “Come meet ‘em.” Sully moves over and holds the door open for him; Ramillo enters, hands on the side of his pockets, heart beating slightly. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. He sees an old man sitting behind a sleek wooden desk, one hand on his pocket. He had powdery white hair, wrinkles, reading glasses, and an aura that somehow put him at ease. “You must be the young chum named Ramillo,” the old man says, in a thick English accent. He lays his right hand out and Ramillo shakes it. “Marciano Bauville, at your service.” The old man adjusts his glasses. “But you can call me Marcy for short. Or… or Mr. Bauville. Politer way of sayin’ my name.” Ramillo nods and smiles, while the old man scoffs. “Eh, well… good to see ya in the flesh, kiddo. You’re in good hands. You…” He leans in a bit. “… you know how to shoot a gun, right? At least defend y’self?” Ramillo delays his response, mostly out of nervousness. “Uh… I know how to shoot a gun, yes.” “Good enough. And you’re in good hands, like I said. They’ll show you the ropes.” He points to Sully. “Sully ‘ere… been with me for as long as I can remember. He trained Jaime, Ken, Darrius… everyone, really. And what kind of bodyguard would you be, if you don’t know how to hold a gun, eh?” Ramillo nods, now feeling a bit overwhelmed, now that he’s discovered his role; a rookie bodyguard, the only guy with the least experience. “Just relax a bit, pally, and breathe the air o’ this city. Get your bearings. Wrap your mind around this job a bit. I’m sure Darrius and them’d be glad to help.” Ramillo didn’t really feel the exclusion of an out-of-towner as of yet. Those words just put him at ease a little bit more. “Rest assured, chap. Bellforde’s better than what everyone says.” The old man, Marcy, smiles, and continues to adjust his glasses. Ramillo expected someone who wouldn’t even look him at the eye, let alone speak to him. This man was the very opposite of that description. He continues to shyly smile, his nervousness slowly dwindling down. Category:Dead Awakened Category:Dead Awakened Issues Category:Issues